


loneliness & the heart it breaks

by Acacius



Category: What We Do in the Shadows (TV)
Genre: & nadja gets the apology she so dearly deserves, Character Study, Gen, Missing Scene, Team as Family, [slaps hood of fanfic] this bad boy can fit so many headcanons in it, anyway yeah maybe i am soft for friendship... what about it, in which nandor actually admits his feelings, very serious tones intermixed with nadja's grade A insults & nandor's canon-typical himbo behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:08:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25643305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acacius/pseuds/Acacius
Summary: Set after 2x05 (“Colin’s Promotion”). Nandor attempts, for the second time, to give Nadja a genuine apology.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 28





	loneliness & the heart it breaks

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posted from my tumblr @nandoor. a short little something that had been sitting in my drafts for awhile now. hope y'all enjoy :3c

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Nandor had always enjoyed Nadja’s company—and, even now, despite the wedge that he had inadvertently pushed between them, he could not deny that Nadja was dear to him and had been one of his only friends for nearly a century now. He had originally gotten along with Nadja before warming up to Laszlo, her fun, easygoing nature and charisma tethering Nandor to her long before he even realized that he saw her as a genuine friend. Unlike with most vampires he encountered (though he was loathe to admit it), there had rarely been an awkward moment between them—very little fazed Nadja and for that, he was grateful.

She took each of his eccentricities in stride, even encouraging some of his more newfound interests. A passion for taxidermy, for instance, was something Nadja and Laszlo shared with him—his boar, Barry, had been a one-off acquisition when he had taken it from a victim’s home, unable to part with the smiling beast and its ivory tusks. When he finally got around to displaying it, he was surprised to see that Nadja, inspired by him, had taken the initiative to move her own taxidermy animals from storage and placed them in her bedroom, enshrining them in glass as if she were making a museum of sorts. Later, at Nadja’s behest, he too added to the décor of the shared living places within the house, his other favorite contribution being a grizzly bear that resided near the fireplace in the music room.

In short, Nadja cared about him—even at his worst, when he knew he was being as petulant as an unruly child, Nadja was there to be a voice of reason. She never lied to him, her blunt honesty a refreshing change from his time as a warlord, where honey dripped from everyone’s lips and no one, not even his own flesh and blood, were brave enough to disagree with him, to steer him off the path of destruction he seemed hell-bent on walking until it was too late. Nadja, in her own sharp but well-meaning way, could get him to snap out of any downward, self-destructive spiral with a well-placed kick at his shin or barbed comment that ultimately revealed a genuine truth about himself that he hadn’t realized before. 

She—along with Laszlo, if he were being honest—tethered him to the present when he felt like slipping into the vast ocean of time, his memories as deep and treacherous as a sinkhole. Loneliness was a dangerous thing for vampires, after all, and while the ache remained, it did lessen when he was around his housemates. And it was hard to feel lonely or out of place when he was sandwiched between the pair, some bawdy comedy playing out on the computer device in his lap, courtesy of Guillermo. 

Perhaps that was why his heart now felt as if it was being skewered on a pike every time she looked at him with a cold, disappointed gaze. Metaphorically, of course, as he had told Guillermo; he’d been stabbed plenty of times on the battlefield before his turning that he knew this pain was different. The cut of a blade was a severe, sharp pain that brought the world into focus, everything just a little too loud and bright for the brief moment before the blood began to pour out. But all nonfatal wounds would eventually heal, scar tissue deadening the nerves there, the pain now a memory made physical, something carried in secret underneath his clothes. 

But this pain? He could not hide it—how much the guilt did eat away at him once he tucked away some of his bravado and pride. Alone in the dark confines of his fur-lined coffin, Nandor had spent the better part of the day wracking his memory, searching through centuries of memory for the mental image of Nadja’s little village, for the yellow flag that was burning in the painting.

He could not find it. And, though he would never admit it to anyone else, he felt a pang of shame at not being able to remember the conquest of Nadja’s village. It was just another pillage, another place he did not bother to learn the name of before it went up in a plume of smoke. At some point in his time as a soldier, the number of dead, the lives destroyed, stopped having a meaning. He killed because he was good at it, because it was what everyone expected of him, because destruction came as naturally to him as breathing.

_I’m ruining it,_ he realized, stepping out of his coffin unaided just after dusk. _I could lose Nadja if I don’t do something soon._

* * *

When he finds Nadja alone in the fancy room, he immediately goes to her, knowing it was better to act now while he still had the courage to do so. The words tumble out of his mouth in a flood of sincerity as he sat across from her, voice strained with the guilt he could no longer pretend didn’t exist. “Nadja… I’m sorry about what I did to your village. Truly. Is there anything I can do that will make you feel better?”

Perched on one of the armchairs, Nadja raised a brow, placing the book down on the table beside her. She crossed her leg, fingers lacing over her skirts as she tilted her head in thought.

“Well, I’d like if you’d rip your heart out and serve it on a platter. A fancy, golden platter. None of that crock you’d display at a garage sale.”

“…I’m not sure I can do that,” Nandor eventually replied, gaze glued to the floor. He didn’t dare look up, not ready to see the disgust in Nadja’s eyes yet again. Surely she hated him. He couldn’t even blame her; it was thanks to his pillaging that her village became a home to inhospitable creatures such as vampires, why Nadja lost her human life to a vampire masquerading as a snake, latching its teeth into the soft flesh of her neck.

Nadja bared her fangs in a pitying sneer, reaching over to cup Nandor’s cheek with a gentleness that confused him. Her touch itself almost startled him—it wasn’t that Nadja didn’t show physical affection, but it was usually much more subdued and quick. A pat on the shoulder, a brief touch of his knee, a playful shove, even a lazy hand trailing through his hair after a night spent inebriated on drug blood. This close, Nandor was forced to look at Nadja’s face, to see the small curl of her lips as she clicked her tongue loudly, thumb stroking the skin just above his cheekbone.

“You stupid little donkey, I was _kidding_. I forgive you. So stop with the pouty face. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Really? You’re not doing the leg-pulling?” 

Nadja nodded. “Yes. I know you can’t change what happened—I just wanted an apology.”

Nandor brightened instantly. “So we are okay-A again?”

“For now,” Nadja agreed, pulling her hand away. It took a great deal of effort for Nandor to remain seated, the stirrings of loneliness once again dredged up in the face of possibly losing one of his only friends. “Really, Nandor, I was more upset that you hid the truth from me. I thought we all agreed to be honest with each other, even if it may hurt at first.”

“I just didn’t want you to hate me,” Nandor admitted. “I should have burned that painting long ago—but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I didn’t know why, but maybe it was because I actually wanted you to find it one day.” 

Nadja chuckled dryly. “How very stereotypically mannish of you. Instead of talking about your feelings, you decided to hide them until they nearly got us killed by Colin Robinson. Next time, just bloody tell me what’s going on in that pink mushy brain of yours so we don’t die… again.”

“Well, when you put it like that it does seem rather foolish.” Nandor replied, grimacing in a way that only the tips of his fangs were visible. 

For a while, the pair lapsed into a companionable silence. A tension Nandor hadn’t realized he’d been holding in his shoulders began to ease away as he leaned back in his chair, sighing.

Nadja pressed a manicured nail to her chin, brows furrowing. “Now that I think about it… even though you did destroy my village, you did this while you were human. And vampire Nandor isn’t the same as human Nandor, is he?”

“That is true,” he replied, hands placed gingerly over his knees as he toyed with the ring on his left thumb. “You could say that I was a different person back then. Almost like I didn’t do it at all!”

Nadja, agile as a viper, swung her leg out to kick Nandor in the shin.“No, that was still definitely you, you silly, cowardly weasel of a vampire! You can’t pawn off your guilt to your human ghost self!”

“Oww! Okay, fair enough. _Yeesh,”_ Nandor admitted, rubbing at his leg with a sour look which quickly morphed into thinly veiled fondness. They would be alright--it would take time and genuine effort on his part, but hopefully he’d regain Nadja’s trust eventually. _And I’ve got all the time in the world to wait,_ he thought to himself. When he smiled warmly at Nadja he was pleased to see her smile back, fangs shining in the glow of the candlelight. 

* * *

Unbeknownst to either vampire, Colin Robinson hovered patiently at the door, eyes gleaming blue for a brief moment before returning to their usual color. He gave an unhappy look to the cameras, lips pulled into a thin line. 

“Well, there goes my _all-you-can-eat buffet_ ,” he began, shaking his head in disappointment. “But hey, buffets come and go. Vampire roommates, on the other hand, are forever. So I can’t say I’m all that upset—besides, this just gives me more of a reason to make Guillermo listen to my interpretive jazz solos which I’ve recorded on tape for everyone’s auditory pleasure.”

Not even the boom mic operator could resist giving a weary groan at the energy vampire’s words. 

**Author's Note:**

> yes this was way more dramatic than i first envisioned... but i'm not mad abt it lmao. 
> 
> anyway, here's my (1) random blood fact as i am now apt to leave at the end of all my wwdits fanfics: in forensic cases, most initial toxicological testing is done on peripheral blood samples (meaning either peripheral - unspecified, or more precise locations such as femoral, iliac, etc.). this is to decrease the chance of postmortem drug redistribution compared to say, heart blood, which, as we know, literally fuels the redistribution of blood through the body.


End file.
